


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by trash_kid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Scorpius Malfoy, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Mentions of Cancer, Potions Master Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_kid/pseuds/trash_kid
Summary: The last night of Hermione Granger-Malfoy's life.





	1. No Better Healer

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

The late Lucius Malfoy’s aged bottle of Firewhiskey shattered into a thousand pieces as it ricochetted on the wall; its contents soaking the adjacent portraits, the 1300s Persian rug, and the Mediwitch who was trembling atop it.

Without warning, another bottle of liquor crashed into the same spot on the wall, barely missing the witch by a few centimeters.

“Best Mediwitch in Europe, they tell me. Bullshit.” Draco Malfoy seethed, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. “You’ve been here for four months— _four fucking months_ —and she’s in no better shape than she was on day one.” He continued burning a hole into the wood as he paced. “Why aren’t you doing your job? What do you want? More money? How much do you want? How much more money do you want?”

The quivering form of the Mediwitch replied, “With all due respect, M-Mr. Malfoy, money won’t fix anything. She’s in critical condition and there’s really nothing I can do for her any longer—”

Draco stopped pacing. “Get out.”

“S-Sir?” The Mediwitch gasped.

“I said: get the _fuck_ out of my home.” Draco said in a low, menacing voice.

With that, the witch scurried away, taking her bags and medical equipment with her.

Draco let out a frustrated yell at her retreating figure. _Fantastic. Now I need to look for another healer_ , he thought. He sat behind his desk and pulled out some sheets of parchment and a quill, writing to his friends, asking for healer recommendations—magical or otherwise. After finishing eleven handwritten scrolls, he called a house elf to deliver the letters to his owls.

“Ninny?” He called after her.

She inquired back. “Yes Master Draco?”

“Do tell one of your brothers to clean up the mess I’ve made. I’m terribly sorry to have done it.” He apologized.

Ninny smiled, hooking a crooked finger around the collar of her dress Narcissa had given her. “No need for that. Ninny herself will take care of the mess Master Draco has made.”

“Thank you.” With that, Draco departed his study, carefully avoiding the shattered glass fragments on the floor, and making his way to the master bedroom.

Draco knocked softly before entering.

The bedroom was a controlled environment. Draco set up charms to keep the temperature constant, and he warded it as well against diseases and other things that might put his witch’s health at risk. There was never too much light that filtered in through its open windows, in fear that it might cause migraines.

On the left side of the bed lain Hermione Granger-Malfoy, pale as a sheet of paper, and as fragile as one too. The white blankets concealed her much-too-thin body from her husband’s eyes, but all the same, he knew of its sickly state. He had tried feeding her a little more, but all it did was increase the use of the metal bucket she had at the foot of the bed. He knew that if he didn’t want her to regurgitate what she had eaten, he had better not force her to eat more food than she can muster. Attached to the inner side of her left forearm was a Muggle IV fluid. Draco didn’t know much about Muggle technology, but the Mediwitch had explained to him months ago that it supplied Hermione with the nutrition she needed that she couldn’t get from the scarcity of her meals. The IV fluid in her arm was connected to a larger supply, a clear bag hung from a metal stand on wheels.

Draco carefully walked across the room to sit on the bed next to his wife. He took her delicate hand in his. Hermione’s eyes opened, looking as exhausted as ever, but they lit up at the sight of her fair-haired husband.

She smiled at him and cleared her throat. “What did the healer tell you?” She asked, her voice soft and cautious.

“She said you’re going to be fine.” He lied, bringing her hand up to press his lips to her skin.

Hermione sighed in resignation. “Draco, don’t lie to me.”

Caught in his dishonesty, Draco tried stretching the truth a little bit less to make it more believable. “Technically, she did say that you’re going to need more time to recover,” Hermione gave him a look. “But I think that… I think that we should replace her.”

Hermione looked startled. “Replace her? She’s the best we’ve got. She knows both muggle medicine _and_ magical healing, Draco. I can’t imagine why you would want to replace her.”

Draco snapped, “Well she didn’t bloody do a good enough job, did she?” He said with some acid in his voice.

Realization sunk in. Hermione was quiet for a few moments until, “You’ve already fired her.” She deduced, ever the bright witch, even in illness. “Didn’t you?”

His silence confirmed her suspicion. Hermione sighed once again and closed her eyes. _This is hopeless,_ she thought.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ll have a better healer in no time, love.”

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. The hand ensnared in his own lifted up to his face to caress his cheek. “Draco, listen to me. Cancer—even in the Muggle world—is incurable, especially at stage four. Everybody knows it.” She said slowly. “Harry and Ron know it, Ginny knows it, Blaise and Daphne know it… Scorpius knows it. Hell, _you_ know it. But you, unlike they, deny that it’s happening to me.”

Draco shook his head furiously, denying what she’s trying to get across.

“Love, it’s inevitable. Any day now I’m bound to d—”

Draco cut her off, rising from his spot on the bed. “ _No!_ ”

Hermione flinched, startled.

“Not if I can help it. You may have lost all fucking hope, Hermione, but I haven’t. So forgive me for refusing to accept that you’re just going to… _die_ ,” His voice cracked. And tears threatened to spill. “After everything you’ve been through. After surviving a fucking war and being tortured time and time again… no. This is not the way you’ll go. I’m going to make sure of it.” He ended, making his way to the door and slamming it shut after him. The walls shook at the force.

Hermione turned to her pillows. It was not the first time they had fought over this. It was far from the first, in fact, and Hermione was tired of crying after he walked out every single time.


	2. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

Hermione woke up to the sound of thuds. Blearily, she looked around her. It was nighttime, and if she had to guess, it was midnight from the looks of it. Draco was sound asleep on her right side, a possessive hand slung haphazardly around her waist, even if they weren’t on the best of terms.

Sitting up, she was surprised to find a small silhouette walking about. A soft smile made its way across her lips. Hermione almost called out to her son when she noticed that the figure had elongated ears. It was also wearing a dress. She then realized that the reason for her waking was the house elf shutting the windows on the other side of the room. Hermione’s movements made the bed creak, and the elf snapped to attention.

“Oh dear! Ninny is sorry to wake Mistress Hermione!” She half-whispered. “Ninny was only closing the windows because it had begun to rain, and Ninny knows that bugs like to fly indoors in the rain. Master Draco and Mistress Hermione wouldn’t want to wake up in the morning with the place swarming with _insects_.” Ninny closed the last window. “There! All done!”

“Thank you, Ninny.” Hermione yawned and smiled fondly. Normally, she would have been against keeping house elves, but after (unsurprisingly) arguing with Draco about it, she realized that all the elves are adorned with tailored outfits made by the former mistress of the house herself. Draco claimed that the elves decided to stay, out of their own volition, and those who did were paid fairly and regularly. Hermione made sure of it.

Remembering that she had thought Ninny was someone else, she asked, “Ninny, would you happen to know if Scorpius is asleep?”

“Master Scorpius is not asleep, Ninny thinks. Master Scorpius has been tossing and turning all night,” She said, concerned.

Hermione didn’t even think twice before saying, “I’d best check on him, then.” She lifted her husband’s arm off her waist and threw the covers off her legs. She then swung them over the edge of the bed.

Ninny fretted. “Oh, but Mistress Hermione mustn’t! Master Draco will be very angry when he finds out that the Mistress has gone!” Ninny tried to push Hermione’s legs back into the bed.

“Nonsense,” Hermione said, stopping Ninny from toppling her over as she stood. “We’ll just have to make sure he won’t find out.”

Ninny opened her mouth to protest when Hermione said, “Now please go get some sleep. Leave the chores for tomorrow.” Ninny looked indignantly at her. “Please, Ninny? Thank you.”

Ninny sighed, resigned, and disapparated with a _pop_. Alarmed that it could be loud enough to wake, Hermione’s eyes fell on Draco. She made sure that his breathing was slow and even before gripping the cold metal IV stand and wheeling it across the room where the door stood.

Every step was a challenge, and by the time Hermione was at the door, she was panting in exertion. No wonder she hadn’t gotten up for anything other than to use the loo. As she walked through the vast hallway, she realized that she hadn’t been outside of their bedroom in four months. Her surroundings looked almost different. There were signs of wear-and-tear on the runner where the path of footsteps was imprinted on, and the wax from candelabras and candles were no longer standing upright, but all over the floor.

After what feels like forever, Hermione arrived outside her four year-old son’s room. She knocked thrice before opening it.

Tucked inside his bed in the corner of the room was Scorpius. Hermione’s son was strikingly an exact replica of Draco—from the hair, eyes, nose, and little mouth, he was his father’s son through and through. As Scorpius grew, Draco’s initial pride at his inherited traits turned to horror when he found out that he possessed all the traits of a Gryffindor, and then some. Like his mother, he loved books above all else, and was the most stubborn little sprig. He held no trace of his father’s infamous sneer, although Hermione refused to admit to her husband that the moments Scorpius was cross was when he looked most like him.

“Scorpius?” Hermione called out to him, and his charmed ceiling lit up.

“Mummy?” He looked at her with big, gray eyes and fat tears making its way down his cheeks.

Hermione wheeled her IV in and sat at the edge of her son’s little bed. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Scorpius wound his arms around Hermione’s middle as he sobbed. “I-I had a nightmare, Mummy.” He sniffed.

She brushed his hair back to see his face and wiped the tears off with her thumbs. She kissed his head. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He hiccoughed a few times, but besides that, he was silent. Hermione was content to just listen to his breathing and be there for the child, but after a few moments, Scorpius spoke up.

“I was climbing a tree.” He started hesitantly. “It was an angiosperm. I know it was an angiosperm because it was a Willow tree. I read about it the book you and Daddy gave me.” Hermione nodded, in awe at her son’s intelligence at such an early age.

“I climbed it high, Mummy. Very high. I wanted to stand on the tallest branch and touch the clouds, so that’s what I did. I climbed higher and higher until I was too scared to look down. But I got scared anyway, Mummy. I started shaking, and when I reached for another branch, I didn’t reach far enough because I fell. I fell and fell.

“But I didn’t reach the bottom, Mummy. I just kept falling. I looked down and when I was supposed to land, there was a hole in the ground. I fell some more. I was so scared, Mummy. _I just kept falling_.”


	3. Little Did He Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

Draco reached for his wife’s familiar warmth across the bed. He blindly felt for her body in the sheets, but when his hand gripped the edge of her side, his heart skipped a beat. Hermione was gone.

Instantly, Draco was awake and alert, as if he had been dunked in an ice bath. He sat up quickly, looking around their bedroom for any signs of her. There was no light under the door of the loo, but just to be sure, he opened it, finding nothing. He checked the closet, coming up empty-handed as well. Draco began to panic. He noticed that the previously opened windows were shut, and it was raining outside. _Was that why Hermione was up? To shut the windows?_ He crept up to the balcony, already seeing that she wasn’t there, but double-checking nonetheless.

He was just about to call one of the house elves when he thought of one more place she could have gone to.

Hurriedly, he sprinted to his only child’s bedroom, finding it lit from a crack in the doorway. He rested a hand on his chest when he heard voices on the other side.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Don’t cry. It was just a dream, and I’m here now.” He heard Hermione say. “You’re going to be okay as long as Daddy and I are here to protect you.”

Scorpius sniffled. _Was he crying?_ “But what if I lose you and Daddy? What am I gonna do?”

Draco decided to make his presence known. He walked into the room, his wife and son raising their heads to his figure. Draco said, “That will be many, many years into the future, Scorp.” He crouched down beside Hermione, who was seated on the bed. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little mind about it yet.” He touched his son’s nose.

He placed a hand on Hermione’s knee, and she covered that hand with her own.

Scorpius’s lower lip trembled as more tears flowed out. “But I heard Uncle Ron saying that Mummy’s not going to make it.”

Draco gave Hermione a not-so-subtle glare. “He’s a bloody liar, then.” He shook his head disapprovingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged Draco with her foot. _Language_ , the gesture said. “Sweetheart, Uncle Ron is just worried about me, that’s all.” She wiped his tears away.

Scorpius’s mouth turned downwards a little more. Hermione took a shaky breath and said, “No matter what happens, Scorp, I will always love you. No matter what. Even if you don’t see me in my room, or if I can’t sing you to sleep, I will always love you. So, so much. Your Daddy will too. Do you understand?”

Scorpius gave her a sad smile and a nod. “I understand. I love you Mummy. I love you Daddy.”

At the same time: “I love you, squirt.” “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Hermione kissed her son’s hair, forehead, and cheek, and Draco took Scorpius’s hand in his own and rubbed soothing circles on it.

The Malfoys were quiet after that. Scorpius tried to stop his tears and calm himself down, knowing that if he slept again tonight, he will no longer dream of angiosperms and endless holes on the ground; but of his Mummy and Daddy, who will be there for him no matter what.

“Can you sing me to sleep, Mummy?”

“You don’t want your Daddy to sing you to sleep?” She asked.

“Daddy can’t sing.” His parents chuckled at the fact. “It has to be you.”

“Of course, sweetheart. As you wish.”

Hermione wasn’t that good of a singer, but to her audience of two, she had the best melodic voice there was, and the tenderness of the notes she sang added to its charm. Draco waved his hand at the magical music player in the corner of the room, and from it, a soft piano tune emerged, accompanying its singer. She sang for her son, drifting off to sleep. She sang for her husband, who was now just accepting something everybody else already did. She sang for herself.

_“Stars shining bright above you,_  
_Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’,_  
_Birds singing in the sycamore trees,_  
_Dream a little dream of me._

_Say nighty-night and kiss me,_  
_Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me,_  
_While I’m alone and blue as can be,_  
_Dream a little dream of me._

_Stars fading but I’ll linger on dear,_  
_Still craving your kiss,_  
_I’m longing to linger ’til dawn dear,_  
_Just saying this._

_Sweet dreams ’til sunbeams find you,_  
_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you,_  
_But in your dreams whatever they be,_  
_Dream a little dream of me.”_

Little did he know, as Scorpius fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, that he would never hear his Mummy’s voice sing him to sleep again.


	4. More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

The magical music box played in the background as Draco and Hermione slow danced to it in the middle of the room. His left arm rested on her hip and her right on his shoulder, while the opposite hand was clasped in the other’s. “My baby boy. I love him so much.” She whispered to Draco, tearing up at the sight of her sleeping son.

He pressed his lips to Hermione’s forehead as he rocked her back and forth. “He knows.” Draco took a deep breath and happened to get a whiff of his wife’s sweet scent—lavender and honeysuckle. “He’ll always know.”

As the music rose to a crescendo, Draco led her to a clumsy twirl, chuckling softly all the while. Normally, Draco and Hermione were graceful dancers, but difficult it was to dance with an IV up one of Hermione’s hands. She twirled back into Draco and slowly, they swayed, Draco’s front to Hermione’s back.

A minute later, Draco was deep in thought when Hermione sniffled quietly. He frowned, stopped, and spun her around to see her face streaked with tears. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Panic arose from deep within him as he inspected every inch of her face.

“No, no. I’m… I-I just…” Hermione was at a loss for words for she did not know how to tell him that she had a gut feeling that she had to leave them very soon.

Draco had known Hermione for the majority of his life, so when she hesitated to tell him what was bothering her, he took one look at her trembling hand on his and her quivering lips, and instantly knew. Draco’s eyes welled up with tears. He no longer entertained the urge to fight his wife over the issue; he was tired. And (though Draco would never admit it) he had the same gut feeling as his wife did.

So Draco tightened his grip around her waist and pulled her closer to him, her tears staining his shirt.

“I love you _more_.” She said.

I love you _more_. Hermione never said 'I love you' without the comparative. Only Draco knew what she meant. Other people asked why, but they had never divulged the reason. ‘I love you _more_ ’ was their promise to each other, and each other only.

**Six Years Ago**

_“Absolutely fucking not.”_

_“Why not? Draco, this is what I want.” She took his hands and held them close._

_“I can assure you, Granger, that it isn’t.” He pulled them back, turned away and started walking in haste._

_Hermione grabbed his elbow and pulled him back. He refused to turn, but he stopped in front of her. “You can’t make that decision for me! I know what I want, and it’s_ this _. What we have._ That’s _what I want.” She pleaded._

_“No, it’s not, you stubborn bint!” He spun around and faced her, his platinum locks wild in the evening breeze. “Don’t you read the papers? Or hear what everyone says when we walk by? I’m nothing but fucking trouble, Granger! Merlin’s saggy balls, I was a bloody Death Eater! I was Voldemort’s lap dog for years, in case you’ve forgotten!” His chest rose up and down. “And… I know you don’t like to talk about it but… you’re ill, Granger.” He softened. “You’ve got—what, two years at best…? And you want to spend it with me? You can’t possibly want that. And here I thought you were smart.”_

_Draco turned away again and started walking when Hermione whispered, “Is it because…_ you _don’t want this? I’m a mudblood, is that it? Or is it because I’m… I’m_ ill _?”_

_He quickly pivoted, seeing Hermione with her head towards the grass, her gaze at his shoes. “No! You of all people know that I don’t give a flying fuck about—”_

_Hermione interrupted him. “Because if you don’t feel the way I do about you, then I’ll gladly let you walk away—”_

_“I. Want. This.” Draco said each word loud and clear for Hermione. “I want this,” He repeated, “but we can’t always get what we want.”_

_“Why? Why can’t we? Don’t we deserve it? Doesn’t the universe owe us this much?” She looked at him, her gaze piercing through his soul._

_“You know why! I’m not bloody good enough for you, and I don’t reckon I’ll ever be—”_

_“_ That’s bullshit, and you know it! _” She exploded. Hermione Granger never swore. Not even when she was angry. So Draco knew that he had really hit a nerve this time. He thought that she looked beautiful when she was furious at him, her cheeks enflamed and eyes burning with passion._

_She closed her eyes and sighed, composing herself. For a few seconds, they stood silently, moonlight being the only source of light, the sound of the waves being the only source of sound. A particularly strong gust of wind blew past, through Hermione's hair and towards Draco, smelling like lavender and honeysuckle._

_Draco and Hermione had been seeing each other more and more frequently after the war. So frequently, in fact, that they had been part of each other’s daily lives, and they had started developing feelings towards each other. So there they stood, on a not-date, in a park next to the Thames river at eleven o’clock._

_“Look…” She started. “I understand why you think we can’t be together. But don’t you think it’s worth it? In the end, wouldn’t it be worth it? Wouldn’t…_ I _be worth it?”_

_“Of course you’re worth it. That’s exactly why I—”_

_She interrupted, holding up a finger. “I’m not finished.” She paused. “I know who you are, Draco. I know exactly who you are. I know that you’ve been through a rough patch a few years back. I know that you still have trust issues, and that you’re still angry at your parents for allowing Voldemort to use them… to use their only son. I know that you’re way too tough, and that you can be a brute sometimes. I know that your favorite word is either ‘fuck’ or ‘bloody’, and I know that you’ll never care for cats the way I do…” Draco suddenly seemed interested at her shoes when she said, “I know that you’re still struggling to come to terms with who you are. You blame yourself for so many things you had no control over, and you haven’t forgiven yourself for the mistakes you’ve made.” She closed the distance between them, put her finger under his chin, and lifted his face until he looked her in the eye._

_“But Draco… I love you_ more _.” Hermione said. “I love you more than that. I need you to understand that I don’t care about any of it because I love you_ more _.”_

_Draco kissed her, then. Slowly and cautiously, as if she might change her mind if he pressed his lips against hers a little harder. He kissed her_ _for the first time under the moonlight, and it was perfect._

She was supposed to have two more years to live, the doctors said. That very night, Draco—being a natural potion master himself—had made it his life’s mission to brew a cure for Hermione’s cancer. Lo and behold, a mere three months later, he had concocted something that killed the cancer cells in Hermione’s body… or so they thought. It was a medical miracle. They got married shortly after, and Scorpius Malfoy was born.

Three and a half years later, as Hermione was reaching for a tome in the Malfoy library, she had fainted and fallen from the ladder. To her (and the Wizdarding World’s) surprise, she woke up with her cancer at large once again, but this time, it grew to become immune to the potions Draco had used to drive them away.


	5. Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Harry Potter.

Draco had insisted on carrying Hermione back to the bedroom, while she dragged the IV stand along with them. Hermione had protested adamantly at first, but he swept her off her feet, and she shut her mouth in fear that she might wake their son.

They crossed the threshold of their bedroom and Draco gently placed Hermione down on her side of the bed, climbing in after her. She wheeled the IV stand to where it had previously been situated and scooted closer to Draco on the bed. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head on his beating heart. 

“Draco?” She whispered.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Of course. Anything you wish.”

She took a shaky breath and anchored herself to the sound of Draco’s heartbeat: steady, safe, and certain. “Take care of Scorpius for me.”

Draco rose and leaned on his elbow to get a better look at her. “Don’t say that like you won’t be there for him too.” He tried half-heartedly.

“Draco… you know. You _must_ know—” She pleaded.

He interrupted, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Goodnight.” He lied back down, engulfing them both in pregnant silence.

Draco knew that she would be gone very soon. His Hermione, the light of his life, snuffed out by some Muggle disease that he had never even heard of before she had it. He will have failed her, he realized. He wouldn’t be able to save her from the cancer. The cancer which was a million times smaller and weaker than Draco was, so inconsequential and inferior, but it had the power to take away the most important thing in his life. He will have failed his son, as well. His Scorpius will grow up without a mother, without the lullabies she sings and the books she reads him. His first accident with magic won’t be with her around. Hermione will not witness his first day at Hogwarts, won’t be there to celebrate when (not if) he would be sorted into Gryffindor, no. Draco’s son will be forever known to have a widower as a father, and a dead war heroine as a mother. _And it’s my fault,_ he thought.

For the first time in nine years, Draco Malfoy cried.

Hermione looked up from her position on his chest, seeing her husband cry. Silently, she brought her hands to his face to wipe his tears away. Draco shut his eyes, and Hermione kissed his eyelids; the right first, then the left. She kissed the new tears away as well, making sure no tear was left to dry.

She seemed to have read his mind. “It’s not your fault, love. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“It is, Hermione. I could have—I could have done something. Maybe if I added three Mandrake roots instead of one and a half—”

She shushed him. “Not your fault.” She kissed the flowing tears away. “You did everything you could have done. If anything, you _saved_ me. I was scheduled to die four years ago, Draco. You gave me four years, a beautiful marriage, and a perfect son… what more could I ask for?”

Unconvinced, he shook his head, refusing to accept what she was telling him.

“You gave me the best four years of my life… and I love you _more.”_

He looked into her warm, chocolate eyes, his favorite color in the world, and said, “I know.”

He kissed her, as slowly and cautiously as he did the first time she told him she loved him more. He memorized how her mouth moved and caressed his, softly suckling and touching his lower lip with her tongue. 

And in that moment, Draco would have given everything he had if it meant he could take Hermione’s place instead. For not even a hundred hearts could hold all the love he had for her. “I love you _more_ ,” Draco told Hermione.

She touched her forehead to his, and Draco closed his eyes. No words were exchanged as their lips locked for the last time. Draco was never the most articulate or eloquent wizard. Try as he might, he did not know how to tell Hermione just _how much_ he cared. Instead, he showed her through his heated caresses, kisses, and tears. 

Draco and Hermione settled down against each other a minute later—slumber a heavy blanket over them—and slept… one deeper than the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an epilogue, but imo it's not super important to the plot. Should I still upload it? Or did the story end well enough?


End file.
